


I will carry you, always

by clarewithnoi



Series: I obliterate the canon and dance a jig upon its ashes [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, DADA Professor James Potter, Family Feels, Fluff, Hogwarts, James Potter & Lily Evans Potter Live, James Potter is a Soft Dad, also t is just because jily make out at the end, au things are good, gilderoy lockhart slander, jily, my usual level of Snape bashing, which is not insignificant, who loves his son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29602143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarewithnoi/pseuds/clarewithnoi
Summary: It was Lily, in fact, who managed to convince him to take the job only a few minutes later, after she all but sprinted into the kitchen with a second letter clutched in a white-knuckle grip, eyes panicked. He thought for a moment that someone might have died.“Do it,” she hissed upon arriving at the other side of the kitchen island, “James, youhaveto do it.”“What? Why? Just a minute ago you were saying—”“James.” There was something desperate in her voice. “James, the other person they’re considering for the position isGilderoy Lockhart.”James Potter is hired to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts during his son's second year at Hogwarts, and his first evening back at the castle certainly makes an impression.
Relationships: Harry Potter & James Potter & Lily Evans Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Series: I obliterate the canon and dance a jig upon its ashes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174853
Comments: 43
Kudos: 141





	I will carry you, always

**Author's Note:**

> a They Lived AU because I want Them to Have Lived!! Title is from Novo Amor's song, "Carry You" :)
> 
> I apologize for any formatting errors! word docs are really not a favorite of AO3's word processor.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Onward...

The mop of untidy black tresses barreling toward James was poised to knock a bushel of much-coveted tarts right out of his hands, but luckily, thanks to years of Quidditch, he had the reflexes necessary to avoid such a mess with a series of artful twists and stretches. He was notably less successful at muffling the indelicate _oof!_ that punched out of him as two tiny arms wrapped solidly around his middle.

“DAD!” The mop bellowed.

“Well,” James replied bemusedly, freeing up one of his hands to worsen the mess of his son’s hair, “Hello to you too, Harry James.”

“Dad, you’re _here!”_

“Well, I’d hope I would be here, seeing as I’m going to be teaching you Defense this year.”

James had been hesitant about heeding McGonagall’s message when it had arrived via owl only two months prior. _Position open for Defense Against the Dark Arts,_ it had said, _only a year-long commitment._ _Owl at first opportunity if interested._

Yeah, alright.

The ‘only a year-long commitment’ bit he could believe—it was just a few sentences further down, where it read, _you’re sure to find the experience enriching and fulfilling_ did he begin to question the integrity of his former Head of House. He’d witnessed a good few Defense professors in his day— _enriched_ and _fulfilled_ were not words he would have used to describe them.

Gobsmacked by the proposal, James read the letter aloud in the kitchen of Potter manor with elbows on the island and hands rifling through his hair, interrupting the previously jovial atmosphere of the room as Sirius attempted unsuccessfully to catch a series of Bertie Bott’s in his mouth. The only other sound in the kitchen was the sporadic _tap-tap-tap_ as beans landed with on the surface of the counter.

After he finished reading the piece of parchment out loud, it became evident that James was not alone in this incredulity.

“They want _you_ to teach Defense?” Sirius asked after he went through the letter again, for what was probably the fifth time that hour. “To our impressionable youth? To the _next generation of wizards?”_

“No, Padfoot. They want me to teach the Dungeon Trolls.”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “Well, finally—some sense!”

It was Lily, in fact, who managed to convince him to take the job only a few minutes later, after she all but sprinted into the kitchen with a second letter clutched in a white-knuckle grip, eyes panicked. He thought for a moment that someone might have died.

“Do it,” she hissed upon arriving at the other side of the kitchen island, “James, you _have_ to do it.”

“ _What?_ Why? Just a minute ago you were saying—”

“James.” There was something desperate in her voice. “James, the other person they’re considering for the position is _Gilderoy Lockhart.”_

Well. That changed just about everything.

“Gilderoy _Lockhart?”_ The collection of Bott’s piled up in Sirius’s lap spilled onto the floor like a colorful waterfall as he hopped from the counter. “That little shit from Ravenclaw?!”

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ —Sirius! Sirius, you’re stepping on all of the—”

“Never mind that, Lily, we’ve got more pressing matters to attend. _Lockhart?!”_

Sirius looked imploringly at James, as if expecting him to wave his arms around and yell, _just kidding!_ but was instead met with a helpless shrug, the only thing James could offer him. Lily placed both hands on the island and breathed a long, dragging breath.

“James, you’ve got to say yes. Whatever the logistical problems are, we’ll make them work—but I _cannot_ and _will not_ have my son taught Defense by Gilderoy Lockhart.” A bright flush exploded across her face as she spoke. “Gods, he’ll not learn a single thing! He’ll try to duel using _scourgify!”_

“Actually, that can be well effective in combat—Remus cast it once and I lost my footing in some newly present dish soap.”

“Not the point, Sirius.”

“Quite right. Apologies.”

James heaved a sigh, taking off his glasses to rub them nervously on his shirt. The idea was certainly exciting, and it wasn’t as if he never thought about teaching at Hogwarts one day; he just never expected it to come so quickly after Harry’s admittance. But… _Gilderoy Lockhart…_ the very thought of it made him shudder.

He didn’t like shuddering. Potters didn’t _shudder_ , they _sh_ _one_.

“Alright, then,” he said, “I’d better start dusting off my textbooks.”

And so he sent Eleanor the Owl off with a good-luck pat and a hearty piece of meat for the trip, and he and Lily began negotiating the frequency of her visits to the castle. Sirius, in a bid of unhelpfulness that was relatively consistent with his character, declared his intention to make _Hot For Teacher_ tee shirts to sell with James’s face on them.

“You’re a ponce,” James said with a roll of his eyes.

“With pride,” replied Sirius.

September approached rapidly and with little warning after that. Before he knew it, James was ushering Harry out the door, levitating both his and James’s own bags behind them for the walk to the apparition point. It had been decided weeks prior that James and Lily would deposit Harry onto the train as they had the previous year, and he would follow shortly after by floo, securing himself a few extra hours with Lily before leaving for the castle.

And take advantage of those few extra hours they certainly did.

...Which brought him to this moment, about ten minutes after stepping out of Dumbledore’s fireplace, robes slightly crumped and smile bright, clutching a beaming twelve-year-old to his hip and trying valiantly to keep a homemade tart from slipping out of his grasp and onto the marble floor.

“Snuck away from the Great Hall to find me, did you?” James asked with a grin. Harry pulled back slightly to give him a sheepish look, and James recognized immediately the expression of, _please hold whilst I think_ _up an excuse_. He had perfected it, after all.

“Well,” said Harry sagely after a brief pause for calculation, “I wanted to make sure you still remembered the way to the Great Hall. It’s been a while since you were at school here, after all.”

 _Little git_ , James thought with no small amount of affection, and then realized immediately: _Merlin, I’ve really only got myself to blame._

He used his free hand to tickle Harry’s sides, which resulted in a series of squawks and giggles. “S-s-stop it, dad!” Harry yelled. “Y-you’re _embarrassing_ me!”

James relented with a sigh. “Well, now you know how humiliation feels at the hands of a loved one, Harry. _It’s been a while since you were at school, Dad._ I mean, _really?_ I’m thirty-two!”

There was evidently no part of Harry’s twelve-year-old conscience that could reconcile the idea that thirty-two was not, in fact, just shy of mummification, because he shrugged lamely, as if to say, _can’t blame me for the passage of time_.

“By the time you’re twenty, I’ll be the bloody crypt-keeper,” James muttered.

This marked the end of the acceptable dilly-dallying, apparently. Harry huffed a sigh and looked toward the clock at the end of the hall. Whatever he saw there, he clearly did not like, because he gave a shout and grabbed James’s free hand in a bid to drag the fully-grown adult in his chosen direction.

 _“Dad,”_ Harry implored, tugging James’s hand along, “come _on._ We’re going to be miss the whole Feast!”

“Well, we certainly can’t have that, can we?” James chuckled down at his son, who was wheezing just the slightest bit at the effort necessary to pull his father forward. “Hang on, Harry. I’ll get us there in a moment.”

Harry gasped. “Are we going to—” he lowered his voice and looked around the corridor with wide eyes, presumablysearching for eavesdroppers or passersby, “— _apparate?”_

“No,” James laughed, “no apparating. This is a magic only your dad knows, actually.” He paused for a moment as a series of memories swarmed his brain. “Well, actually, Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony know it, too, but they’re not here right now. So, as far as we’re concerned, only your dad knows, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Harry cheered.

This ‘mysterious magic’ was actually just a nearby tunnel that James and the lads had discovered midway through third year, back in ‘74. He scoured the hallway for the portrait he was looking for— _aha_ , he thought when he spotted the telltaleHippogriff trotting away in the corner of the image, _exactly as I remember—_ and motioned for Harry to follow him.

James kneeled down to be eye-level with his son. “Alright, Harry,” he said, “you’re not to tell anyone about this, and I’d better not catch you mucking about after curfew, do you understand?”

Harry nodded, eyes brimming with excitement. James grinned back at him, and for a moment, they matched in this.

“Alright, then. I’m about to let you in on a closely guarded Marauder secret.”

With a knock at the corner of the ornate, Renaissance-era golden frame, the portrait opened to reveal a small tunnel. On the other side would be the bottom of the Grand Staircase. James heard Harry’s delighted gasp as he pulled open the door and murmured a quick _lumos_ to illuminate their path.

 _“_ _Cool!”_ Harry cried.

There was a pull in James’s stomach, a long-dormant thing that he hadn’t felt since his and Lily’s first date, like the arc of his life was turning, and he needed to make sure it didn’t pass him by. Harry’s face was awash with glee. Sometimes James thought that having a child was one of the most selfish acts of his life. Here he was, getting to experience every one of life’s joys a second time, getting not only to watch the world present its beauties to his son, but to know that some of these beauties were of his making, and to Harry, James was the manufacturer of no small number of happinesses, such that would not have existed without him.

He would live and die to protect these joys for Harry, and that too was a selfishness he did not know before having a child. He would scrub the earth to softness if it meant his son could walk barefoot without knowing pain.

“Grab my hand, yeah?” James said. “We’ll be there in a jiff.”

* * *

The feast was just about as uncomfortable as James had predicted, though he refused to give in to his internal disquiet. He and Harry arrived to the Great Hall about midway through the meal. The hundreds of small heads at the House tables turned toward them, and Harry puffed out his chest in defiance of their stares, boasted by his father next to him. They bid each other goodbye before parting ways, and James—for the first time in his life, and not something he ever could have predicted—made his way to the Head Table.

Various professors nodded his way. Some sent smiles. Others were too engrossed in their food to even take notice of his appearance. As he pulled out his chair to sit down, it was the latter he found himself the most grateful for.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” he said to the professors-at-large, “last-minute lesson planning.”

James had decided hours ago that they would not need to know why he was actually late. He surveyed the table as he began to grab bits of food.

Sitting two seats to his left was Severus Snape, who accounted for approximately one half of the reason for James’s hesitation to accept the position. The other half sat directly in the middle of the Head Table, whose long, white beard was becoming increasingly littered with pastry crumbs, and who sent James a friendly smile. James responded with a small nod.

The knowledge that Dumbledore’s plan for his family those twelve years ago had nearly led to their deaths was something that he would never be able to shake. It sat in his bones like a wound that had never quite healed correctly, sending jolts of discomfort through him the way a phantom limb ached at the rain.

“Pumpkin juice,” he said to his goblet. The orange liquid filled it at once.

James and Lily maintained a joint skepticism of Dumbledore, which was admittedly somewhat painful for James, as Dumbledore had been such a leader and mentor for most of James’s young life; even beyond that, the man had seemed near infallible in his morals and convictions.

But nothing superseded the danger his family had been put in at Dumbledore’s hand— _nothing._ He had tried to make amends when Harry was much younger, giving explanations and rationale, but neither James nor Lily wanted to hear it. There was no number of apologies or placations that would make up for the trauma they’d experienced at his advisement.

“Welcome aboard the faculty, James—er, _Professor_ Potter!” Professor Flitwick’s high, tinkling voice interrupted James’s thoughts. “I remember when you were but a wee First Year!”

Hagrid chimed in from his monstrous seat a few places over. “An’ ter think! Now yer a professor o’ Defense!”

“Thank you both,” James smiled at his new colleagues, “I’m excited to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

A low scoff erupted from James’s left. Not shockingly, its origin was the Potions professor. It was almost offensively predictable—Sirius would have taken great issue with the man’s sense of dramatic timing.

“I see they’ve continued to lower the bar for the position,” Snape said with a sidelong glance at James. The man’s hair was the same length it had been when they were at school, and James paid a quick, silent condolence to whichever unfortunate hairdresser was tasked with trimming the greasy tangle.

“And yet,” James replied easily with a sip from his goblet, “even with this lowering, you’ve still not managed to get over it.”

“Are you attempting to insinuate that Potions isn’t as important as your precious _Defense?_ What a classic bit of self-aggrandizement, Potter. Good to see you haven’t changed.”

“Ah, but Severus, you forget—I’m actually _married_ to a potions maker, so you can trust that I’ve not once underestimated the importance of the art.” James paused for a moment and tapped a finger to his chin in thought. “I’d ask if you remember how well it served us in the War, but then again, I wouldn’t actually expect you to know—didn’t see you at many Order meetings, and whatnot.”

Face alternating between the pallors of _boiling kettle_ and _lifeless corpse_ , Snape opened his mouth as if to respond, but before he could, Professor— _Minerva_ , James was supposed to call her now, _Minerva—_ McGonagall interrupted. Clearly, she’d retained the necessary muscle memory to intervene before their animosity amassed collateral damage.

“Why, Professors,” she said primly, “I do believe the headmaster is about to give some remarks.”

James knew this tone well enough not to say anything further. He knew that she could no longer actually give him detention or dock house points, but he was even more certain that her wrath would find its way to him regardless. No professorship could eliminate his bones-deep fear of that catlike gleam in her eye.

 _Enriching and fulfilling,_ alright.

James turned to face the middle of the table, but on his way, he scanned the Gryffindor table for a familiar head of hair. He found it with ease, sat right next to no less than four heads of red hair and one long-haired, frizzy brunette.

A fond smile formed on his face before he had the mind to stop it. Harry was scarfing down meat and potatoes with a lack of manners that would have sent Lily into a fit. He looked happy, and comfortable, and altogether like a twelve-year-old boy and nothing like some mythologized _Chosen One_. He wanted to freeze the image in his brain and take it with him to the end of his life.

 _This is not the place to start crying,_ he reminded himself swiftly at the telltale pressure at the bridge of his nose, _you will never hear the end of it from Binns. Literally. The man is dead; he has eternity._

James swallowed down the lump that had appeared in his throat. As if sensing his gaze, Harry suddenly turned his head, and the two Potters met eyes from across the Great Hall, hazel meeting green and green meeting hazel in turn. There was so much of James in Harry, anyone could see that, but the way his eyes crinkled with a big, toothy smile was every part Lily.

Not for the first time, James was bowled over by the idea that—if they wanted to—someone with those eyes could bring down the sky, put a stop to death. He’d seen it happen before.

The sound of Dumbledore’s voice rang out across the Hall and silence fell in response.

“My dear students,” he announced, “I have the pleasure of introducing a new member of our faculty this year—your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, James Potter. He is Order of Merlin First Class, a veteran of the Great Wizarding War, and I think you’ll find him to be more than suited to effectively teach you to defend against the Dark Arts.”

James fought a grimace as Dumbledore sat down to the sound of uproarious applause. It was a longer speech than he remembered him giving for other incoming professors, and certainly longer than he deemed necessary. He thought briefly that it was possible the older man was still trying to placate him, and appealing to his ego was the chosen route.

 _Great_ , he thought, _just great. I’m sure Lockhart would have loved that sort of introduction._

The only comfort came when James looked again at Harry. He was sitting taller in his chair and grinning at the students around him. _That’s my dad,_ James could see him say, _that’s my dad._

* * *

“A successful feast, I imagine, Professor?”

James gave a start at the voice that emerged from next to his office door. He’d only just walked into the room. The tension had just begun to melt from his shoulders, and he was mentally preparing himself to organize the necessary materials for the upcoming first week of classes, some beginner’s guide to defensive spells he had stashed in one suitcase or another.

That all halted soundly. Although he would know this voice anywhere, he still turned around to greet it, just in case it was a hallucination of a yet-overtaxed mind.

Apparently not.

“Lily?” He gasped. “What are you—”

“I took the liberty of organizing some of your materials for this week,” she declared by way of explanation, “because, honestly—we both know you’d be hopeless without my input.”

James was still dazed at the sight of her. She was wearing the same clothes she had worn only a few hours prior. He remembered distinctly throwing that sweater across the bedroom to the sound of her delighted laughter.

What were they talking about, again?

“You— _what?”_

“I rest my case.”

Should this moment ever be presented to the Wizengamot, James would testify that there was no possible way he was supposed to maintain any semblance of focus, and he’d dare any person there to say they’d have acted differently. Lily Evans Potter was striding toward him with a grin shaped like trouble _,_ and her eyes were dark in the candlelight of the room. He loved her so much it sometimes made him dizzy.

“This position becomes you,” she said.

“...I’m sorry?”

“ _Professor_ , you git—it looks good on you, being a professor.”

Her hands laid themselves on his chest, and she pressed herself firmly to his front. James’s hands settled on her hips. He could feel a smirk coming on.

“Lily Evans Potter,” he mused as she tugged idly at the collar of his shirt, “am I to believe that you’ve got a bit of a thing for teachers?”

“I’ve got a bit of a thing for _you_ ,” she murmured, “but the professor aspect certainly doesn’t harm your case.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her jaw. It was shaped like a grin. Her hands left their places on his chest in favor of tangling in his hair, fingernails scraping pleasantly against his scalp.

“I’m very glad to know this,” James whispered to the skin of her neck, “but I feel like I’ve missed opportunities thus far. How long as this _professor aspect_ been lying dormant, hm? Since school?”

Lily pulled back for a moment and eyed him dubiously. “I feel like I should stop this line of conversation here, lest you crack some stupid joke about Professor Slughorn and make me ill.”

“You wound me, Miss Evans.” James wrinkled his nose. He didn’t miss the way she sucked in a breath at the use of her maiden name. “I’m offended you believe I would tarnish this moment with mention of Professor Slughorn.”

“Oh, would you not? Terribly sorry—I seem to have tarnished it myself.”

“That you have.”

She moved backward just a few centimeters until she could hop up onto the edge of his desk. Her arms remained encircled around his neck, so he was forced to follow her the distance. He knew, like a facet of his very being, that he would have done so regardless. His eyes flickered down to her lips.

“Well, Professor,” Lily murmured, and the way her bottom lip tucked under teeth to form the _f_ should have been outlawed in all commonwealths of England, “in your professional opinion, do you think we can un-tarnish it?”

James leaned forward so that their lips were barely a hair’s breadth apart. He loved this life—at its end, there would not be a person capable of saying he’d taken any of it for granted.

“Luckily for you, Miss Evans, that happens to be a specialty of mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> be honest, is it one of my stories if their faces aren't at some point 'a hair's breadth' away from each other? lmao
> 
> Hope you enjoyed :) please leave a comment! I'd love to know what you think. How do we like these They Lived AUs??
> 
> as always, come say hi on my Tumblr! @clare-with-no-i! it's where I post about my works, and generally just engage in dumbassery and tomfoolery!
> 
> love u all, my sweet lovebugs!
> 
> xo


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